


Not a Replacement, Never a Replacement

by AndThenHeGotKnockedUp



Series: UA PacRim Fusion [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves Friendship, Ben Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Drift Compatibility (Pacific Rim), Drug Withdrawal, Family Reunions, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, M/M, Modern David "Dave" Katz, Pre-Relationship, Sober Klaus Hargreeves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29521551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndThenHeGotKnockedUp/pseuds/AndThenHeGotKnockedUp
Summary: Klaus hasn't piloted a Jaeger in years. He hasn't wanted to without Ben. He's spent all that time wandering far, far away from anything having to do with the Academy and kaiju.Unfortunately for him, the world is ending, and Luther doesn't give him a choice.(Pre-Klave! Will have a follow up in the future.)
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Series: UA PacRim Fusion [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168763
Comments: 15
Kudos: 25
Collections: EnKlave Fest 2021





	Not a Replacement, Never a Replacement

**Author's Note:**

> I could not get this prompt out of my head! I definitely have more coming in the future, but for now, I couldn't help but get this out for the Enklave fest.

Klaus Hargreeves is broken. Washed up. Unrecognizable. Physically, he’s fine — except for the silvery web of scars across his left side and the massive drug addiction, but those don’t count. It’s the mental part that even he will admit is wildly fucked. 

It’s that part that’s the most desperate for a fix and even angrier ( _betrayed_ ) that Luther’s locked him up in this metal hellhole. 

“Hey,” he shouts hoarsely, smacking his open palm against the thick door. _Hello, hello, hello._ “Let me out, you big fucker!”

“Klaus, stop.” Ben stands in the corner in the same clothes he’s worn for so many years now. Black pants. A black hoodie with a simple _6_ printed in stark white on the breast, the back emblazoned with a mass of gray tentacles clutching a skull. It was something the American unit’s PR team came up with to make them seem fiercer (and more profitable). They were obliged to wear things like it, despite how much they hated it, but Ben often did and still does wear a leather jacket over the hoodie to cover the worst of the imagery.

Not that it matters. They both know it’s there — just like the tattoos their father forced them to get before the seafloor cracked open and shifted their focus from relatively small time crime-fighting to the world of mechs and drifting. 

“You might as well sit down. He’s not going to let you out until you’re sober,” Ben continues, sighing. “Especially not with the world _actually_ ending. You know this.”

Klaus ignores him. It’s not a new development. He ignores Ben whenever his brother is being annoyingly logical, including the token protests he puts up whenever Klaus gets his hands on drugs. Neither of them were a fan of Luther’s strict leadership before, and trial and error taught them over and over again he wasn’t willing to bend. 

He certainly won’t now. 

“I’m not going to spend my last weeks in this, this _closet_ ,” Klaus snaps, slapping on the door again. Not much of the boring speech he was treated to the night Luther dragged him off the streets has stuck, but he does remember a few key parts.

The world is ending. Something about kaiju coming through more, blah blah blah. 

There aren’t many pilots left. Most of them died in battle. ( _That_ he didn’t need to be told. The longer he’s here, the more of them he can see out of the corners of his eyes.)

Klaus was one of the only surviving pilots not at the Shatterdome.

The sympathy on Ben’s face burns more than anything, because he’s the only one who has any idea how Klaus is really feeling. “You won’t. You’ll sober up. Luther will pair you with any available pilots until you find a match.”

“There’s no one who can compare to you, Benji,” Klaus says softly as he finally gives up on the door. He drops down to sit on the floor next to his brother’s intangible legs. He groans. “Does this mean I’m gonna die in training? I think this means I’m gonna die in training.” 

Ben sits, too, without a word. 

The Umbrella Academy lineup isn’t what it used to be. Luther was put out of commission at some point, which took Allison out of the game for a while. Not even her rumors could force a good enough compatibility with anyone else. Klaus remembers hearing about it a while back. He thinks he might have been in Germany at the time, high on molly and the freedom that came with being so far away from any breach. Five was long gone, of course. Even if he did make it into the future like he insisted he would, neither Klaus nor Ben hold much hope for him coming back anymore. 

It’s more likely he ended up in a world overrun with kaiju. A kid wouldn’t last long in that. 

Which left Diego scrambling for a new partner. Their father point blank refused to let Vanya train with them, no matter how many powerless people were getting into Jaegers and succeeding across the world. Not that their father ever listened to them. As kids, they all knew Vanya and Five would have been compatible, but that was never an option for Reginald. So Diego went through a long line of temporary partners before breaking off and finding someone on his own. Last Klaus heard (or rather, last _Ben_ heard and reminded him once he wasn’t so high), he and a pilot named Eudora had gone their separate ways. 

Apparently, all four of his remaining siblings are here somewhere. There aren’t any other American teams at the dome. 

Not living, at least. 

A husband and wife team stare at him mournfully as Luther carries his limp body out of the small room and into the communal bathroom. His bigger brother holds him up under the coldest of sprays as he washes himself, his body weak from withdrawal. He absently notes that Luther is much bulkier than he used to be. It’s hard to hold onto that train of thought as he’s roughly wrapped up in a towel and sat down on a bench. 

“You look sober,” Luther says, crouching down in front of him. “Good.” 

Klaus grimaces. “You’re not going to find me a match.”

“We will. We need to. You’ll do your part.” And there it is again — his brother’s hero complex. That persistent need to save the world even though he’s one person with a superpower that doesn’t help against the actual threat. It caused plenty of tension in their family when they were younger.

Klaus still doesn’t much care for it, doesn’t understand it. “Ben’s still here,” he protests. He hates this. Ben is still here, still connected to him, still running through his head and his veins. How can he drift with someone else like this? 

Unsurprisingly, his words do nothing but cause the expression on Luther’s face to tighten. “Stop it, Klaus.”

None of them wanted to hear it. None of them ever did. Klaus clenches his fists, his ragged nails biting into his palms. He knows he’s a fuck up. He knows they couldn’t trust a word he said right after it happened. 

He meets Ben’s eyes over their brother’s shoulder and hopes the age old apology comes across as strongly as he feels it. 

Ben looks resigned. Luther, perhaps, is the worst of their siblings to try this with, really, and he’s the most aware of that. 

After all, Luther was the one who came up with the plan that night. He was the one coordinating the Academy. He was the one who sent Ben and Klaus out there, right into the path of a particularly nasty kaiju. 

He was the one who took Ben’s death the hardest — after Ben and Klaus. 

(No one could have felt it the way they did.) 

Luther shoves a pile of gray cloth and a generic pair of sneakers into his limp hands. 

Without even looking, Klaus guesses it’s a set of PPDC sweats. They feel the same as the old ones did. Mass produced. Slightly soft but depressing in color. He sways as he pulls them on, already planning to cut the arms off as soon as he can get his hands on scissors or a pocket knife. Maybe he’ll even crop the pants, too. 

_If_ he gets the chance. Luther hauls him to his feet as soon as the sneakers are on, and they’re off, winding through the halls, passing ghosts and staff alike. They stop in a big room. It’s filled with people, all of them watching the spar in the middle of the room. 

One of the two fighters is Diego. Years have gone by since they last saw each other, but it’s unquestionably him. His hair is short, cropped. His clothes are tight and dark, his hands white-knuckled on the staff he’s working with. Sweat beads up on his brow. Every single movement of his is countered by his opponent, a slim woman with dark hair. She’s… familiar. 

“Eudora Patch,” Ben says from his side. “They used to be partners.”

So that’s why. “They certainly have chemistry,” he drawls with a lazy laugh. Looking at them now, it’s not surprising they didn’t last. He’s getting a total fight and fuck vibe from this spar. 

Luther’s jaw tenses. “Fight’s over,” he calls out. 

There’s a moment where neither Diego nor Eudora stop.

When they do, Klaus knows it’s because they caught sight of him. He wants to be happy to see Di again, but his brother’s gaze is wary, intense, like he’s waiting for Klaus to disappear.

Which — fair. In some ways. He couldn’t stay. Couldn’t stick around and sit through therapy sessions and examinations with their father. Couldn’t prod the raw part of his brain, trying to forge new connections. Couldn’t be anywhere near the hellhole that ripped both Ben and his sanity from him. 

A new foe didn’t faze Reginald Hargreeves, after all. Jaegers were just another tool for them to use in protecting the world, and they had to learn it. Perfect drift compatibility wasn’t something they were born with but rather something that was beaten into them through constant training, unwavering pressure, and the weight of expectation. Some of them thrived more than others. Really, the only reason Klaus and Ben survived their father’s scrutiny with only some light scowling most of the time was the fact that they did have a decent drift rating on their own. They weren’t as immediately cooperative as Allison and Luther, of course, though they had an easier start than Diego and Five. 

Which is, in part, why Klaus fell apart the way he did when Ben died.

When Ben was _ripped_ from him mid-battle. 

When he felt both his brother and the Horror scream in agony as if he himself was screaming for the last moments of their life. 

(His pre-existing, slow-growing addictions hadn’t helped.)

The grip on his arm tightens as he trembles. It stings. 

“Klaus,” Ben says softly. He’s standing in front of him now, blocking the view of anyone else, and his hands are firmly in his pockets. He knows better than to move too suddenly during these moments, regardless of the fact that he can’t actually touch Klaus at all. His shoulders relax as soon as he realizes his brother is back with him. “Maybe they’ll let you go if you can’t drift.”

They both know that won’t happen. They’ll keep testing him. They need to, if the situation is as dire as Klaus guesses it is. 

“Not a chance,” Klaus groans. 

“You’ll work with five pilots today,” Luther says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Five, and then you can eat and sleep. If you’re not compatible with any of them, there will be another five tomorrow.” He drags him into the makeshift ring and hands him a staff.

Klaus wavers on his feet. He gives the man who joins him a wild grin, which makes the man hesitate.

Luther raises his hand. The fight begins.

And ends a moment later as Klaus falls flat on his back. 

The next pilot steps up. She’s a willowy woman, face stern and serious, and Klaus immediately knows this won’t work out. 

He scrambles to his feet, gathers himself, and manages to feint, drawing her attention away enough for him to give her a nasty kick to the shin. 

Luther doesn’t look impressed, but he waves the next pilot forward. 

This one takes his time getting to the mat. His eyes are all over Klaus. His expression isn’t set with any sort of determination or cockiness. He’s at ease. Smiling lightly. A stray piece of hair curls across his forehead. He grips the staff loosely, the muscles in his arms relaxed, ready. 

Klaus smiles slow and wide. He winks and lets his tongue peek out. 

Ben groans, reaching a hand up to cover his eyes. Because of that, he misses the first strike. He misses how his brother is the one to move first, how he gives this new pilot the lightest tap, a strike that could be seen a mile away. When Luther fails to call the match, however, he does look. 

Unlike before, Klaus is focused. He’s not paying attention to the crowd around him, just the man in front of him, and his smile is even more playful than before. 

The best part? The pilot looks to be enjoying the spar nearly as much. He grins and readjusts his grip. “You can hit harder than that.”

There’s something about him that makes Klaus want to try, too. Remembering the training he tried to forget, he steadies himself. Then, he throws all of that out the window and conjures up the spars he used to have with Ben. They’d go all out. Staffs were the norm, but that didn’t matter. They were brothers, and if need be, they weren’t above petty kicks or smacks, all of it rooted in fondness. Klaus was always fluid. Ben had an added layer of defense. They were chaotic.

They _worked_.

This pilot’s eyes widen at the crazy way Klaus barrels towards him, but he laughs and blocks the blow, reaching out with his own. 

Which is, in turn, blocked. It’s not a fluke, either. They keep moving and blocking and moving and blocking.

Ben inhales slowly. He feels a little… hollow watching this, even as his chest fills with nonexistent warmth. He’s never seen his brother like this with anyone else. Never thought he would.

They’re compatible. 

Dave. Dave is the pilot’s name, and Klaus is in love. He tells Ben this. 

“You’ve already said that at least six times,” Ben says flatly. 

“Oh _fuck_ , I’ve turned into Luther.” With a dramatic gasp, Klaus rolls over to face him. Thankfully, being one of the Umbrella Academy and an addict no one trusted means he gets his own room (close to his siblings, in case he felt like trying to run). “Shake me if I start writing poems about those luscious curls.”

Ben doesn’t bother pointing out he won’t be able to do that. 

“You know he’s not a replacement for you,” Klaus continues after a moment, his voice quiet, “right?”

He doesn’t, not really, but he can’t help but relax. “Right.” Maybe, given time, he’ll even believe it himself. He knows Klaus will never forget him, of course, but — it’s not the same. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a lot busier.”

As if mocking him, the Shatterdome’s alarms start screeching, lights flashing as countless bodies jump out of beds and seats to get battle ready. Even Klaus meets Dave out in the hall, the two of them finding each other with little difficulty in the crowded space. Ben follows, cringing as he walks through person after person. 

“What’s going on?” Diego grumbles behind him. He’s following the crowd all dressed in black, Eudora next to him with her hair loose. 

“No idea,” Klaus chirps. 

Dave brushes shoulders with him. “I’d wager it’s that.” He points past the crowd. Up. 

At the whirl of wind and light about ten feet off the sparring area. 

Klaus blinks at it and leans into Dave. “What the fuck.” 

The wind kicks up. A small, thin figure tumbles out, barely landing on his feet, the clothes hanging off his frame. The portal closes above him, and he takes several deep breaths as he steadies himself. Finally, he looks up at the startled crowd around him. 

Ben stares. “Is that —”

“ _Fivey_?” Klaus can’t rip his eyes away, either. 

Five Hargreeves brushes some of the dirt off his sagging pants and takes a step forward. “We don’t have much time.”


End file.
